Paula's Gun Essay

Paula Harris
Creative Nonfiction


Hanging Emotions

I never imagined I would feel the way I felt when I walked into the gun shop. Upon walking in, I heard the sound of muzzled gunshots coming from the shooting range. This instantly reminded me of the recent tragic events at Virginia Tech. I imagined what continuous gunshots must have sounded like. The chaos, the fear, the rage of a quiet yet mentally disturbed student, who decided to take resentment, contentment, hopelessness and place these emotions into two handguns behind bullets already lodged in the chamber of the murder weapons. Many said that he had a history of violence, written, visible, the epitome of a ticking time bomb. Have the unwritten rules of society caused us to become unconscious breeders of mass murderers? Whose fault is it? Where should blame rightfully be placed? Did this student feel as though the “American Dream” was truly obtainable? What disturbs me more than the fact that many innocent lives were taken that day is the fact that we cannot truly say what factors affected the way the murderer perceived himself within the context of the American culture and why? We have once again become a community of people outraged and equally paralyzed with the fear and terror of possible copycat attempts.

As the door shuts behind me, I look up to find that Kennon and Eric are both nonchalantly handling potential murder weapons. Although Kennon smiles reassuring me that he could never murder anyone, the sight of someone I knew holding a gun made me nervous. I looked around to find fear, caution, something that resembled what I was feeling on the faces of my peers. As I approached Aaron, his runny baby-blue eyes glistened with question and concern. His eyes looked the way I felt. He held his notebook closely to his chest like a bulletproof vest for protection. Clesonda’s infectious laughs and smiles seemed to shield her from the seriousness of her surroundings. I made eye contact with Dr.Alford, who wore an expression that I could not really read. I glanced around anxiously gathering words that caught my attention: glock, hi point firearms, a poster that read: Guns don’t kill people, people kill people.
A stout man, who seemed to be dressed in appropriate attire to work at the gun shop, directed the class to a classroom area in the back of the store. He talked about different types of guns and gun safety. He began to share some of his experiences with guns and added that he was a great shooter in reference to distance and accuracy. He interrupted his own mild boosting with an interjection of the recent events at Virginia Tech. He added the scenario of at least one other person in the classroom being armed with a gun and how the outcome would have possibly contained fewer casualties. This was my opportunity to ask Mr. Odom had he ever shoot anyone. He replied by saying, “Yes, I have but it’s not something that I’m proud of. Someone once told me that when you kill someone you take everything they were and everything that they will ever become away”.
I left the gun shop appreciating the essence of life, friendships, experience, and the fact that presently we all still have a future. I said my goodbyes, with tear-filled eyes I got into my car. Mt heart ached for the students who have no life, no more friendships or experiences, no future.